


Laundry Day

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2195565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early!Klaine.  PWP.  Kurt is wearing a pair of boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination and Blaine has only one thing on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundry Day

It starts with a pair of dove gray boxer briefs.

Well, technically, it starts with laundry day.

Kurt had gotten melted chocolate from the chocolate chip cookies they'd baked on his sweatpants and Blaine had offered to put them in the washing machine for him. Somewhere in between being helpful and relocating from the kitchen to Kurt's bedroom for movie time, his attentions had shifted from “innocent Saturday afternoon with my boyfriend” to Kurt wearing nothing but a pair of last year's boxer briefs and a tank top, on display standing on tip toe in his walk-in closet.

Blaine, sitting at the end of Kurt's bed, watches at first through the reflection of the mirror on the closet door behind Kurt and then simply watches Kurt directly, straining to reach something at the back of the top shelf. The boxer briefs cut in at his tiny waist and hug the firm, high shape of his ass like a glove, and when he comes down off of his toes the material is sucked up in between his cheeks, outlining each side in full detail. The muscles in his thighs clench as he shifts around, trying to dislodge the material without indelicately picking at his butt.

Blaine's cheeks go from warm to inferno in about five seconds.

The tank top that Kurt is wearing is no more forgiving. It's ridden up to expose a slice of his lower back and belly, and when he turns it tugs tight across his chest and shoulders.

Blaine wonders if it's possible to be in love with the space between Kurt's shoulder blades. If it is, then call him smitten.

Whatever Kurt had been searching for is apparently destined for a drawer in his dresser. The bottom drawer, to be precise. When he bends over to deposit the item, the legs of the briefs draw up, revealing a plump sliver of the bottom of each of his ass cheeks, curved and full and jiggling, so that when he stands the material is bunched high on his ass, pinching the cleft and riding high on his thighs.

Blaine not-so-subtly draws a decorative pillow over his lap.

They're supposed to watch a movie, but all he wants to do is put some part of his body on a very specific part of Kurt's body. There's nothing romantic about it—he just wants. This is a feeling that he's beginning to get used to, but it still feels like a greeting card that's been stuffed into an envelope designed for a slightly differently shaped greeting card—almost a fit, but strange at the edges and overall awkward.

Kurt is not an object. Kurt is not simply the result of his physical parts.

Blaine tilts his head as Kurt bends over the drawer in his bedside table.

And is promptly caught staring.

Kurt's mouth twitches up into a warm little smile. "What?"

"Something important in the boxes?" Blaine asks. He can be polite. He can reroute these thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, my dad figured out which bejeweled box I keep the condoms in, so I've had to set up several diversionary boxes. So far the labels 'high tea recipes' and 'Oprah DVDs' have been the most effective deterrents."

The blush on Blaine's face rushes down the back of his neck and ears. "Oh. Oh, geez. Is he—is he angry?"

"No," Kurt says, with an amused, embarrassed smile. He sits on the bed, crossing his long—and so very naked—legs, one over the other. "He bought me a variety pack of the expensive kind, and left me a note telling me not to waste my allowance on cheap protection." His face twists up. "Sometimes I fantasize about what it might be like to have a parent who just went 'yuck' and backed away quickly."

Blaine smiles. They both know that Kurt is joking. "I think it's cool that he cares so much."

Kurt folds his legs up onto the bed, and then shifts onto his knees and puts his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "I think I'd really love it if we could stop talking about my dad."

Blaine laughs, flushing warm with happiness and pleasure as Kurt begins kneading his shoulders and nuzzling into his hair.

They still dance around each other when it comes to initiating sex—but Kurt has begun to exhibit a single-minded and earnest focus when he wants something specific, and the surety of his half-dressed state and his strong fingers digging the tension out of Blaine's shoulders make it clear that today is one of those days.

Blaine leans back into Kurt's broad chest, his eyes sliding shut. "That feels good."

After two passes of massage up and down Blaine's back, Kurt pets the hair at the nape of his neck and kisses the flushed skin there. "Feeling good is the theme that I'm going for today."

Blaine grins, his eyes still shut, allowing himself to revel in the warmth of Kurt's body against his back. "I noticed. Laundry day, huh?"

"In my defense, these were the least offensive. You should have seen the patterns on the other two clean pairs."

Blaine kisses Kurt over his shoulder, and then presses Kurt down onto the bed, slotting his legs over Kurt's left so that he can lie down comfortably on top of him. Kurt vibrates with pleasure, loops his arms around Blaine's neck and kisses him back.

Once they're settled in comfortable making out mode, it's easy to allow his mind to shift back to the glorious shape of Kurt beneath the too-tight underclothes that he's wearing. The way that his bulge feels beneath the forgiving cotton, warm and fat and present. The broadness of his chest tapering into the tiny tuck of his waist, and the way that the tank top rides up to reveal the sliver of his belly button when he arches his back as Blaine kisses him.

And then he starts making those noises. High-pitched, soft little squeaks and whimpers that drive Blaine crazy, sends the blood that's already bubbling in his veins surging. Kurt is so tactile and squirmy when they make out—his arms and legs and fingers never seem able to stay still, and as soon as he begins to get hard he's always trying to readjust himself against the hardest part of Blaine that he can locate.

Blaine pulls away to breathe, but finds himself even more breathless at the sight of Kurt under him, his face fire engine red and his mouth swollen from kissing.

And then he does that thing he's only done a few times now, because even though it's been months they simply never have the time or privacy—he takes a condom from the bedside table drawer, and the wrapper between his unsteady fingers crinkles and catches the light, and he bites his lips inward and gives Blaine a look of questioning desire.

Blaine's body twinges with hunger. He pants, once, twice, as Kurt clasps the condom packet between two fingers and kisses him. It's not nervousness or even embarrassment anymore—it's bigger than that. It's anticipation, because they've done it and have learned how to enjoy it, now. But it isn't all eagerness. They are both still so worried about disappointing each other, or spoiling a good thing by having a bad experience—thus far, they have yet to fumble that badly. The tension, the wonder, is simultaneously torturous and delicious.

As they kiss, though, all Blaine can hear is the foil crinkling beside his ear, and all he can see in his mind's eye is Kurt's gorgeous butt in the underwear that he's wearing right now. He wants to look as much as he wants to touch, as much as he wants to be inside of Kurt, as much as he wants to simply be as close as possible to the boy who he loves.

Still, their verbal communication is a far cry from what it should be. He's embarrassed to make a specific request. But then—there's Kurt, churning under his body, rubbing his cotton-encased hard-on against Blaine's belly.

He should just ask. Or he should just say it.

_Oh, god._

He spits it out with one hand buried in Kurt's hair and his mouth against Kurt's ear, feeling the hot reverberation of his voice and breath bounce back against his own mouth.

"Get on your knees."

Kurt's muscles go ridged, and Blaine thinks for one moment that he's gone too far. But then Kurt rolls over, as easily as that, and they rise together on their knees, Blaine between his legs and Kurt reaching out to steady himself against the headboard. He's red as a beet down to his collarbone, and Blaine can feel the trembling of his muscles.

He flattens his hands on Kurt's back and strokes, up and down, taking the tank top off on the last pass, and then finally allowing his fingertips to catch on the elastic waistband of the briefs that are now stuck to Kurt's skin by a thin sheen of sweat. He'd showered just before Blaine came over, so it's clean and salty, and Blaine bends low to kiss the knobs of his spine.

He rolls down the gray cloth slowly, and is perfectly positioned to stare as Kurt's trembling, round ass is revealed, milk-white, mostly hairless, and spattered with chocolate-brown freckles. His mouth floods with saliva and his cock twitches in his jeans.

"You're wearing too many clothes," Kurt says, his voice high and breathless.

"I have a confession to make," Blaine says, as he kneels back a little so that he can shrug out of his shirt and jeans and socks. "I kind of did that on purpose so that I could stare at you while I got undressed."

Kurt looks at Blaine over his bare, creamy shoulder, his cheeks dark and his eyes wide. The briefs are rolled down, tucked just under the swell of his cheeks, framing the rise of his plump ass and flat hips, and when Blaine says that he inches his knees apart on the bed, showing Blaine more or less—everything. The pinkish crinkle of his asshole, the smooth curve of his crack, the swell of his delicate, hair-dusted balls like two juicy plums in a sac, and the curve of his long, hard cock hanging heavily between his legs.

The condom packet is still in his hand. Blaine reaches over to take it. Kurt's eyes are on his naked body, and he lets Kurt return his curiosity as he kneels there, staring at the foil square lying so dark and innocent against Kurt's pale skin.

They've never done it like this, and Blaine is worried that they're rushing.

"Should we—"

Kurt licks his lips, and slowly arches his back. Blaine's brain fizzles.

"We could just do it," he blurts, as he inches the gray underwear down his thighs to his knees.

"Y-yeah?" Blaine asks, shaking as he rips the foil packet open and then reaches for the lubricant bottle beside Kurt's knee.

Kurt puts his other hand on the headboard, and shifts higher up on his knees so that he can step out of the underwear completely. Blaine strokes his ass, gently and then not so gently, spreading him open and thumbing the impossibly hot, soft skin of his crack. He watches his dark fingers on Kurt's pale skin and shivers, feeling Kurt quiver just as violently beneath his hands.

Kurt makes a noise, and pushes his ass harder into Blaine's hands. Blaine draws circles around Kurt's hole with the pad of his thumb, until it's twitching, wrinkling and eager and so hot.

"I want to just do it," Kurt blurts into the tense silence. "I want—"

He hesitates, and Blaine supplies, breathless with daring, "My cock?"

He's never said that word aloud before. Doing so sends a wicked thrill through him.

He's hard, his cock resting on the curve of Kurt's ass, and when Kurt responds to his query with a staggered whine, he ruts forward and then down, letting Kurt feel it.

"Oh my god," Kurt moans, gripping the headboard. His shoulders and arms bunch up, and Blaine bites down on his thick bicep with a groan, and finishes opening the condom packet. He slides the latex over himself, slicks it with lubricant, and drizzles a little between Kurt's cheeks. When he moves to press in with his fingers, Kurt goes stiff. "No, just put it in."

Blaine holds Kurt's waist under his hands. "Yeah?"

"I like the way it feels," Kurt whispers, as Blaine strokes himself up straight and then presses the crown of his cock against Kurt's rim. "When it's big and thick and all at once, it feels—easier, I don't know why."

Kurt drops his pelvis into the curve formed by Blaine's bent torso and thighs, and his back bends in a c-curve as Blaine bears down, putting all of his weight behind the push of his cock.

"Oh," Kurt whines. He's tight and his thighs are shaking and Blaine holds him lower, just at the flare of his hips and ass, pulls him down while pushing up at the same time, sinking into the impossible heat of his ass in one careful thrust. "Oh, god. Oh god yeah. Yeah. Yeah."

"Okay?" Blaine asks, breathing heavily.

He could come in seconds if he allowed himself to; it's that good. And then Kurt pulls his body up and drops his ass down again, impaling himself on Blaine's cock with a needy whine, and Blaine's concern sputters and dies.

"Perfect," Kurt says. Blaine's hands curl around his waist. "God. God, don't stop."

Blaine fucks Kurt with energetic, short thrusts, but lets him set both the pace and the angle. It's worlds away from the first few times that they had done this, with hesitation at every pause. They've mastered the basics, now, and Kurt—

Kurt knows exactly what he likes, and Blaine knows how to give him what he needs.

When his heart is roaring in his ears and he's having to consciously stop from coming every few thrusts, Blaine reaches down and wraps his hand around Kurt's cock.

"Oh, oh, oh," Kurt chants, his hips and ass and thighs stuttering in rhythm against Blaine's. "We—we forgot a towel. I'm gonna—" He hisses as Blaine works the head of his cock. "I'm gonna make a m-mess, oh—"

Normally, Blaine would stop and go get a towel. Or he would ask Kurt if he wanted one. He can't imagine that now. He grips Kurt's ass in his free hand, squeezing until the skin goes even whiter where Blaine's fingers are biting into it, and fucks him harder, faster, stroking his cock in time.

"Blaine," Kurt whimpers.

Even faster, Blaine's hips slapping against Kurt's, the soft, sweaty cushion of Kurt's ass cheeks allowing just the right amount of bounce. Blaine watches his latex-clad cock pumping in and out of Kurt's ass, but this takes him to the edge so fast that he forces himself to look away. He presses his face into the warm space behind Kurt's ear and holds onto him.

He can tell when Kurt gets close because the rhythm goes wild and Kurt begins to whimper gibberish, and at the very last moment right before his cock pulses he sobs, "Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—"

Blaine feels his cock jump and spurt and comes right after he does, the ring of those filthy words whining in his ears, too much and too soon for him to cope with. He floods the condom, and feels Kurt's come dribble over his knuckles. The buzzing crackle-snap of their almost-simultaneous orgasm rattles him from muscle to bone to skin.

They shake together there on their knees, Blaine's fingers sliding in the sweat on Kurt's skin. Kurt writhes on his softening cock until the condom almost slips off and he has to pull out. The stretched elasticity of Kurt's asshole almost pushes him out all on its own and he reaches down to touch it, feeling it shrink and gape and mouth at his fingertips, sticky with rapidly drying lubricant.

"Oh my god," Kurt says, his shoulders bunching as he clutches the headboard and then lets it go, falling down and forward onto his hands. "Oh my god, so good."

Flushed with pleasure and accomplishment, Blaine kisses Kurt's hair, laughter bubbling up in his chest. "It's a good thing that it is laundry day. We've got pillow cases to wash."


End file.
